


Warmer Welcomes

by geekprincess26



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Drama, F/M, Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 04:30:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12005040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geekprincess26/pseuds/geekprincess26
Summary: Post-Season 7: Jon returns to Winterfell with Daenerys Targaryen in tow and tries to make the best of a bad bargain.  Bran’s visions continue with a vengeance.  Arya considers actual vengeance.  Sansa struggles to keep her family from tearing itself apart at the seams.





	Warmer Welcomes

Sansa had not expected Jon to look quite so unhappy when he entered Winterfell’s courtyard side by side with Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

Granted, she had not expected him to be thrilled at the idea of explaining to the lords at tonight’s council meeting that he had bent the knee to the Mad King’s daughter.  However, Bran had informed an astonished Sansa and Arya that morning that Jon had made his decision willingly, not under duress, and had proclaimed his allegiance publicly before Cersei Lannister and the gathered lords of Westeros in King’s Landing.  He had even visited the Dragon Queen later in private to, as Bran put it, “assure her of his commitment to her cause.”  He had said no more, but Sansa had not needed to hear any more.  She had swept out of the room and marched off to the kitchens with more force than necessary in her stride.  Robb may have married a foreigner for pure infatuation, but even he had not been stupid enough to hand her the North on a platter.  

However, if Robb had been happy about a marriage that had secured him no political advantage, Sansa thought that Jon would be thrilled, or at the very least satisfied, that he had struck a bargain securing the assistance of his beloved intended bride to aid the North against the White Walkers.  That dour face of his would no doubt crack into a wide grin when the gates opened, and seeing Arya and Bran again would surely turn the grin into peals of laughter the like of which she had not seen since she had spit out the ale from his horn in Castle Black.

But when Jon’s horse trotted through the open gates, he looked so utterly forlorn that Sansa thought he might weep.  He stared straight ahead like a soldier marching to his doom, sparing not a glance at the woman next to him.  Sansa spared the renowned Dragon Queen a brief glance, and could see no cause for Jon’s unhappiness there.  Her skin was pale and her gown made of thick white wool embroidered handsomely with silver thread, which coupled with the white gems woven through her hair made her look like one of the winter stars descended to earth atop a white horse.  Any man would give his right hand to have such a woman as his wife and queen, Sansa thought.  But Jon made no move to introduce her.  Instead, he swung down heavily from his horse.  Sansa feared for a moment that his unsteady feet would betray him before he righted himself.  Was he wounded?  But surely Bran would have seen it, or Jon would have sent one of his party ahead to request Maester Wolkan’s assistance.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen.”  Sansa’s head swerved to find the source of the melodic voice.  A lovely, dark-skinned woman wrapped in black from head to toe stood next to the Dragon Queen’s mount.

“Rightful heir to the Iron Throne,” the woman continued, and Sansa, glancing sideways, saw Arya raise an eyebrow.  “Rightful Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, the Mother of Dragons, the Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains.”  

The Dragon Queen nodded, and the other woman took a step backward and fell silent.  The horse next to her whinnied, and Jon reached over to steady it.  His eyes met Sansa’s as he did so.  She had not seen them this empty since he’d stared at his men hauling Rickon’s dead body to the crypts, or this sad since he’d described to her how Rickon had died, or this hopeless since he had pleaded with her to accept his protection the night before the battle with Ramsay and she had snapped at him to stop believing that anyone could protect her.  Then his mouth twisted, and first Sansa thought he would cry, and then she realized she had not seen his eyes or his mouth or any other part of him, from his stooped shoulders to his slightly bent knees, look so guilt-ridden.

The anger that had flared up in fits and starts since Sansa had received Jon’s letter informing her of his decision to bend the knee exploded with such ferocity then that Sansa nearly let out a scream to rival the roars of the dragons circling above her head.  But courtesy, not anger, was a lady’s armor, and she and Arya and Bran and Winterfell needed all the armor they could get; for, pledge or no pledge, Sansa did not trust the Dragon Queen any more than she trusted the woman’s infamous children.  So she turned to face Jon’s intended bride and nodded smoothly, taking care not to bend her knees.

“A pleasure to meet you at last, Your Grace,” she said, “and welcome to Winterfell.”  She inclined her head toward Tyrion Lannister, who was perched precariously on a dappled pony next to the dark-haired woman’s horse.  “My Lord Tyrion.  It has been too long.”  Without giving him a chance to reply, she nodded briefly in Jon’s direction.  “My lord brother.”  Finally, she turned back toward the queen.  “Your chambers are warm and ready,” she announced.  “I will show you there myself.  I have prepared lodgings for your household as well.  My apologies that they cannot be as spacious as I wish; for many of my people have chosen to take refuge in Winterfell against the coming storm.  We feast in two hours, after which the lords will meet in council.”  She nodded again, this time at Arya and Bran.  “May I present my sister, Lady Arya Stark, and my brother, Lord Brandon Stark.”

The queen’s eyes narrowed, but she nodded in turn to each of the two youngest Starks.  Arya ground out a nod and a tight, “Your Grace,” and Bran stared at her in his usual unperturbed way before intoning, “Hello, Daenerys Targaryen,”

At that the other woman’s eyes narrowed to slits; but Sansa felt a sudden movement at her side and turned just in time to see Jon falling to his knees and throwing an arm around each of his youngest siblings.

“Arya, Bran,” he murmured, and his eyes squeezed shut as though they could help Jon’s arms cling to the brother and sister he had long thought dead.  Bran merely gazed across the yard, as Sansa had expected; but what she had not expected was the stiffness of Arya’s arm around Jon’s back, or the tight clench of the younger girl’s jaw as it rested on his shoulder.

The Dragon Queen cleared her throat once or twice; but it took a minute or two beyond that before Jon finally drew back to gaze at his siblings’ faces.  He planted one foot behind him and gestured toward Needle, which hung in its usual place at Arya’s side.

“Pointy end, then?” he said, his voice almost as unsteady as his wobbly smile.

Arya nodded briefly.  She drew back her left hand, as if to unsheathe the gift he had given her at their parting so many years ago.  Instead, she brought it smashing into his jaw.  Jon, already unsteadily balanced, fell face-first into the muck beside her.  Gasps filled the courtyard, but Arya paid them no heed.  She pivoted on both heels, stalked straight through the courtyard’s inner gates, and disappeared into the castle.

Sansa bit back a grin just in time.  She stepped back to let two of Daenerys Targaryen’s guards help a stricken Jon to his feet.  He threw her a pleading gaze, but she barely inclined her head in reply.

“My lord,” she said as coolly as she could.  “I will have a bath drawn for you at once.”

She turned to gesture to the waiting servants, and very quickly the courtyard bubbled into a flurry of unpacking and dismounting and sneezing and murmurs about warm chambers.  Sansa carefully sidestepped Jon and his outstretched hand to join Duncan, the steward, who was speaking the Dragon Queen and her personal attendants.

“If you’ll follow me, Your Grace,” she said and gestured gracefully toward the doors at the other end of the courtyard.  

Thank the gods, she thought idly, that so many of the refugee families’ daughters had happily joined her service.  If courtesy was indeed a lady’s armor, Sansa sorely needed reinforcements.


End file.
